


Hitting the Books

by deinvati



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Eames' Stupid Cupid Exchange, Fic Exchange, Fluff, Gift Fic, M/M, librarian!arthur, professor!Eames, tw for how awful writing your dissertation can be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:13:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22653799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deinvati/pseuds/deinvati
Summary: Arthur is an on-campus librarian distracted by the jock-looking guy hunched over a book in the stacks.  He's going to keep an eye on him in case he’s only there to cause trouble. But Eames isn’t trouble. He’s actually an adjunct professor using the library to studying for his doctorate, and possibly flirting with the librarian while he procrastinates writing his dissertation. On the other hand, maybe he is trouble.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 180
Collections: Eames' Stupid Cupid 2020





	Hitting the Books

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hideyseek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hideyseek/gifts).



> Happy Valentine's Day to hideyseek, who provided the *excellent* prompt "Academia AU", of which I have only slightly fulfilled. I hope you have a great day!!
> 
> My thanks to [IAmaNonnieMouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmANonnieMouse/pseuds/IAmANonnieMouse) and to [the Mouse Spouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flosculatory/pseuds/flosculatory) for the beta and the cheering.

Arthur looked up from yet another email from the Early Childhood Development professor asking him to research something in time to see a kid at the front desk, sweating and red-eyed, like he hadn't slept in a week. Finals brought out the worst in everyone, he decided. Which was proven true seconds later by a blast of cold air through his office door where another asshole couldn't figure out the purpose of a vestibule.

"Don't study too hard!" Ariadne said as she handed over his books. She was the newest work-study student, and they were all usually okay, but Arthur liked her better than most. The squirrely-looking kid nodded too fast and shoved everything in a saggy backpack. Arthur watched him leave and then pulled up the checkout logs. He entered a quick memo on the kid's account to watch for crumbs and water damage because there was no way he wasn't mainlining study snacks and Redbull.

The door asshole had already disappeared, but Arthur stepped out of his office and over to Ariadne. "Don't forget, we need to give the return-by date when we're helping guests," he muttered, opening up a second checkout computer.

Ari nodded distractedly, customer service smile still in place. She had a line of students trying to check out, and since the dean wouldn't spring for a self-checker, Arthur put his head down, donned his best "How can I help you?" voice, and waved people over to his line.

"Hey," Ariadne said as they scanned books, "did that guy come ask you about oneironautics?"

Arthur snapped another book closed. "Due back in two weeks," he said to the student in front of him. "Ask me about _what_ -onautics?"

Ari huffed a laugh as she turned to push the full book return cart out of the way. "Guess that's a no. Maybe he'll come up later. Hey, can you do the returns for the basement?"

Arthur sighed. "Ari…"

"Please, please, please?" she whined, giving him surprisingly effective puppy eyes.

"You know you're going to have to go down there sometime, right? It's part of your job, and I'm not always here."

"Yes, you are," she said with a grin. "Besides, that oneironautics guy went that way so maybe you can answer his question."

She blinked at him and he rolled his eyes.

"Fine. But I can only save you from spiders so many times before it brings back the patriarchy."

"What do you mean _back_?" she laughed as he grabbed the cart and headed for the rickety elevator.

The stacks in the basement did contain, in Arthur's opinion, far more spiders than were strictly necessary for a building built in this millennium, but it was clean. Sure, it was thanks mostly to him, but whatever. Spiders were harmless and he came down and swept their old webs out of the corners every so often, which he told himself they probably appreciated. Spiders ate bugs. Bugs were bad for books. Ergo, spiders could stay as long as they pulled their weight, and so far, the library didn't have a problem with bugs, so they'd just continue on.

Arthur started re-shelving in the quiet, somewhat echo-y stacks and managed to scare the shit out of himself when he turned a corner and saw someone sitting in the aisle, back against the shelf and feet braced across from him.

Arthur paused, not wanting to interrupt, but despite his heart rate, he couldn't help sneak a glance. People didn't generally park themselves in this particular non-fiction section often, and his curiosity was piqued. The guy, thick and muscled with a hint of a tattoo peeking out from the sleeve of his form-fitting t-shirt, didn't seem to notice him standing there. He was too busy frowning over the heavy book in his lap. With a matching frown of judgemental disappointment, Arthur turned his cart around and headed to the next shelf. Fucking jocks. He was sick to death of them claiming whatever space and whichever books they decided they needed, sweating to pull a C in their gen eds. At least this one didn't have a pack of his loud and stupid friends with him. He made a mental note to check for used gum stuck under the shelves after that guy cleared out.

He finished reshelving with more force than it really called for and headed back to, but the jock was still there, paging through the book and chewing on his lip. This time, he looked up as Arthur passed, but Arthur had already written it off as a lost cause.

"Oi, mate! You need through here?" he called in an attractive British accent, and Arthur hesitated but ultimately decided Ariadne could handle reshelving the last two books.

"No, thanks," he said and headed back upstairs to find the resources the ECD professor had requested.

Ari, for the first time all day, didn't have a line of customers to check out and was sitting with her boots on the counter and a book in her hand. Her feet dropped to the floor as Arthur rounded the corner.

He frowned at her, but there was no heat in it. "You're reshelving the last two. There was some dudebro in the way."

Ari hummed and didn't look away from her book, so he gave it a 50/50 chance she'd even heard him. "Did you find the guy?" she asked instead, so it might have been more 70/30.

"No," Arthur said, replacing the return bin and heading back to his office. "The only person down there was the dudebro."

Ariadne blinked and looked up at that. "The tattooed dudebro?"

"Yup."

"With the accent?"

Arthur slowed. "Y...ep…"

"Who's studying whatever the hell oneironautics is? And had a question I couldn't answer? So I sent you down there?"

Arthur stared at her, feeling the tips of his ears heating. "Shit."

"Arrrthurrrr," Ari said, drawing his name out as she put her book on the counter. "What the hell! A hot guy asking questions with a mouth that won't quit? I practically gift-wrapped him for you!"

"Well!" Arthur said. "I thought he was just… I don't know. In the wrong aisle or something. I didn't realize he was actually…"

"What?" Ari challenged. "Smart?" She scoffed. "Oh my god, you are so stuck up. Unless they're pasty and underweight they can't possibly be intelligent, right?"

Arthur, who had spent his entire educational career being extremely convinced of that very thing, decided not to answer. He'd also spent several years of his educational career being shoved into walls by guys who looked like the one in the basement, so yeah, maybe he tended to be a bit judgy about buff and handsome.

"Okay, fine. Who is he?" Arthur asked.

Ari shrugged one shoulder and grinned. "Want to find out?" she asked slyly.

"Ari," Arthur warned. "No."

"Come on!" she said, already wheeling over to the computer. "It's literally hurting no one."

"You can't," Arthur hissed. "It's basically stalking. If I found out that someone had looked up my—"

"Charles Eames," she announced. "Just got his card a few months ago. Lives off campus, no late fines, checks out…" she gave a low whistle, "a lot of books about dreams. And sleeping." She hit the page down button a few times and Arthur felt himself drift closer despite himself. "Hmm," she said, leaning forward and tossing Arthur a look. "And a few about other stuff, too."

Curiosity won out and he bent over her shoulder. "Oh," he breathed and refused to let this attractive checkout list sway his judgy opinion the opposite way. This was someone he'd never actually met. Lots of people checked out feminist literature and gay erotica and every issue of the Sandman graphic novels. He could still be an asshole. Just because the last time Charles Eames had checked out books he'd included four of Arthur's favorite local authors and two others he'd promised himself he'd get around to reading literally as soon as possible. It didn't mean they could be friends or… something. Besides, he probably had a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. Or both.

"Ahem," Ariadne said, pushing back against him and standing up. "I'm just going to take the cart around again. Could you help this… guest?" She indicated with her eyes the "dudebro" headed toward the checkout desk.

Shit. Arthur hurried to close out of his account, jamming the wrong button three times and finally managing to minimize the window just as Charles Eames slid a stack of books across to him.

He gave Charles Eames a quick smile, which he didn't see because he was digging his library card out of his wallet.

" _Say something!"_ Ari mouthed as she wheeled the cart from behind the counter.

Arthur licked his lips and scanned the proffered card. "Um. Charles? Eames?"

The guy quirked an eyebrow and the corner of his lips turned up. "Yeah?"

Arthur cleared his throat and looked at the screen again, just to make sure. "That's you, right?"

His smile widened. "Oh, yeah. That's me. Sorry, I just thought you knew me and I was trying desperately to remember your name."

Arthur, feeling completely ridiculous, held out his card. "Oh, no, I don't think I've seen you here before. I'm Arthur."

Charles Eames had adorably crooked teeth and his whole face changed when he smiled. He took his card and replaced it with his hand. "Oh, good. I mean, I can't believe I'd forget it. Anyway, hello, darling, lovely to meet you. I usually just go by Eames."

He shook Arthur's hand and smiled at him. "Eames," Arthur said again, liking the way it felt on his tongue and refusing to read into the "darling." He was British. That's just how they talked. "Nice to meet you too. Do you, uh, come here a lot?" Oh my god, stupid, what a dumb thing to ask. _Why don't you just ask what a bad boy like him is doing in a nice place like this?_

"Well, I will be now," Eames said easily, leaning his hand on the counter. Arthur refused to look at his forearm. "I've started the dreaded process of writing my dissertation."

Arthur blinked, his hands pausing the automatic scanning they'd been doing. "Your dissertation? You mean… you're not a student?"

Eames threw his head back and laughed. "I am not, in fact. But I am going to take that as a compliment on my youthful appearance and not an observation of my terrible study habits. Cheers."

"Oh," Arthur fumbled, feeling his ears heat. "No, I didn't mean… I only thought—"

"It's quite alright," Eames said, smiling at him. "Students don't usually know me. I'm an adjunct."

Arthur paused. "I'm not… wait, did you think _I_ was a student?"

Eames looked surprised, and then he chuckled. "Well, I will just tell you that is absolutely because of your youthful appearance, Arthur." He shook his head at himself. "I apologize. I've just started this semester, and I don't know my way round yet. Although I'm hoping to get a chance for something more permanent once I've gotten my doctorate."

He peered at Arthur, and Arthur wondered if this was what people meant when they said someone made them feel like they were the only person in the world. It was nice. "Doctor Eames," Arthur murmured, smiling back. He handed Eames his stack of books. "It's got a nice ring to it."

Eames ducked his head, looking pleased, and Arthur felt like a warm glow somewhere around his diaphragm. He gave Arthur a nod and tucked the books under his capable arm before he turned away.

Arthur held his breath as Eames walked out the door, his stomach doing jumping jacks and his heart beating too fast. Eames didn't turn around, but it was a damn good view anyway.

"Well!" Ari said at his elbow, and Arthur jumped. "I saw several guest services issues you could improve on for the next customer, Arthur."

Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Did you even tell him when his books are due back?" she chuckled.

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut. "Shit. Well… he probably knows, right? I mean, he's checked books out before. He probably knows the policy."

"Hmm," Ari hummed knowingly. "I doubt it. You'd better call him up and let him know. I think his phone number is in the database—"

"No!" He scrambled to stop her advance toward the computer. "No, no, I'm not doing that."

"What! Come on, Arthur, it's right there!" Ari teased. "Just a quick peek. I won't even tell the boss!"

"Stop it!"

Ari laughed and poked him in the side, and he alternated between glaring and rolling his eyes as she sang childish songs about trees and baby carriages.

"You don't even know if he's single, let alone interested. So just…" He flung a rag at Ariadne. "Go dust something."

She used the rag to salute and then laughed her way over to straighten the paperback romances.

Arthur, like a responsible and non-creepy person, closed out of Eames' account without looking at his number and went to answer an email.

* * *

The next day, Arthur told himself he'd forgotten about Charles Eames completely and therefore it was impossible to be disappointed when he didn't show up. Arthur had plenty to keep him busy—the ECD had sent him five more emails asking him for information, to the point where he just wanted to send them a map to the library in response. He'd also been listening to Yusuf, one of the senior work-study students, keep up with the stream of stressed-out students who were either running on two hours of sleep or two 5-hour energy drinks. There didn't seem to be an in-between.

"Back in two weeks. Due back in two weeks. Yep, due back in two weeks. Due back in two weeks. Thanks, back in two weeks."

Finally, Arthur hit send on his last reply, and he'd had to pee for the last hour so he waved at Yusuf as he practically sprinted for the bathroom. He was just finishing up and washing his hands when the door swung open, revealing one (1) Charles Eames, in the flesh.

"Oh, hey," Arthur said to his reflection in the mirror.

Eames met his eyes and he brightened. "Arthur! Fancy meeting you here."

Arthur chuckled and ducked his head. "Eames, right?" As if he could have forgotten.

"Yes indeed. Say, that's pretty good, you must see a hundred people a day."

"Yeah, there's a lot of students in and out of here this time of year."

"Ah yes, finals week. The thing they don't tell you is, teachers hate finals too."

Arthur dried his hands and looked Eames over, calm, casual, and slightly wrinkled like he'd been curled in an armchair with a cup of tea and a book. "Yeah, it looks like it's really weighing on you."

Eames laughed and moved to the urinals. Arthur didn't know if this counted as flirting, but whatever it was, he didn't really want to do it in the bathroom.

"Catch you later," he said, giving an awkward wave as he headed out the door. Eames didn't reply and Arthur spent the walk back to the check-in desk cringing at 'catch you later'. Dumb.

"Arthur!" Yusuf said in greeting. And then under his breath, "Can you help the posh bloke in the sweater find the business management section?"

Arthur spotted a student with cheekbones that could cut glass wearing knitwear to kill for and pointed him in the right direction. He didn't seem to want any other help if the way he looked down his nose at everyone was any indication, so Arthur headed back to his office. He didn't see Eames exit the bathroom—not that he was watching or anything.

"Oh, of course you come by and it looks like I haven't been working," Yusuf joked. "I swear, I was just about to run returns, but I got swamped by—"

"I'll do it," Arthur offered, a little too fast. "I can reshelve."

Yusuf looked at him dubiously. "You don't have to, mate. There's a whole day's worth, and I don't have a line just now."

"I mean," Arthur said, already reaching for the cart, "it's not a problem. I've been sitting all morning. Be good to stretch my legs."

"Oh… kay," he said, even as Arthur pulled the cart out of his hands. "Fine. I'm not going to say no if you want to that bad."

"Oh, I don't," Arthur said as he headed for the elevator. "I'll just. You know." He pushed the button and wiped his sweaty palms on his pants while he waited. "It's no problem."

Yusuf was watching him with a look of confused laughter and Arthur cleared his throat and shoved the cart into the rickety lift.

The basement was quiet, but not empty today. There were three people who looked up when the doors opened and none of them were Eames. But he couldn't worry about that right at that moment because Yusuf was right and there was a whole day's worth of returns on the cart and the wheel chose that moment to get stuck on the lip of the elevator.

"Fuck," Arthur muttered under his breath, trying to maneuver the cart from behind without tipping the whole damn thing over.

"Need a hand, darling?"

Arthur blinked up into grey-blue eyes and Eames was already helping lift the front end and smiling at him like he was the only person again.

"Um, hey," Arthur said intelligently, "again. Uh, thanks."

"Anytime," Eames said. And then he just stood there, smiling. The doors started to close on Arthur and it jolted Eames into action. "Oh, right, sorry, here you go." He pulled on the cart a little harder than necessary and the precariously stacked books slid off into a pile on the floor.

"Bugger," Eames murmured, and Arthur had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning.

Together they scooped the books up and got out of the way of the elevator doors, who'd been very loudly declaring their annoyance at not being able to close. Eames, with an armful of books and looking slightly sheepish and a lot attractive, opened his mouth to apologize and Arthur cut him off.

"Thanks for the help. I think that elevator has it in for me. We have a history."

Eames huffed a laugh and it warmed Arthur to his toes. "Uh, I don't know if you trust me anymore, but do you need any help with all of this?"

It was on his lips to decline, but Eames didn't look like he was in any hurry to get back to his dissertation, so Arthur shrugged. "Sure, if you're not busy."

"Oh, well," he said, falling into step beside him. "I might be procrastinating just a bit. I feel like I've got dissertation coming out my ears at this point."

Arthur stopped in the first row to reorganize the books which had fallen off the cart. When he took the ones from Eames, their fingers brushed and oh no, no, no, no.

Arthur's mouth went dry and he caught a hint of whatever scent Eames was wearing on his next inhale. Cologne? Bodywash? Deodorant? Fuck. What the hell was he _thinking_? This guy? A jock slash adjunct with an accent? That's who was going to make his heartbeat triple-time and blood roar in his ears? Fuck.

"...you alright? Arthur?"

"Hm? Yeah, I'm fine, just thinking about… um, books. What's your dissertation about anyway?" He started reshelving books, focusing on Dewey decimal points and spines and not on hot British jocks. Or hot British professors.

Eames paused, studying him before answering. "It's on the use of oneironautics in modern society."

Arthur nodded, still looking at the shelf. "Yeah, wow, and what's that? Precisely?"

Eames' sounded amused, but he had to have explained the word so many times already he couldn't exactly be surprised at being asked. "It's also known as lucid dreaming. A way to consciously control your dream state. Sort of like astral travel."

Arthur tried to control his face. "Astral travel, huh? Wait." He looked at Eames. "Uses in modern society? Like how?"

Eames scoffed. "Oh, you don't have to do that. It's quite alright. No one is actually interested in anyone's thesis."

Arthur frowned. "No, but how can lucid dreaming be used? I mean, it sounds interesting, but it doesn't actually sound useful."

Eames tilted his head and looked at him for a few seconds. Then he started handing Arthur books from the cart, walking alongside him. "Well, when you think of dreams, what kinds of things come to mind? Just thought association here, no judgment."

Arthur considered. "Well," _don't say Sandman, don't say Sandman_ , "Freud, I suppose." Eames nodded. "And mattress commercials. REM cycles." _Don't say,_ "Mulholland Drive, circadian rhythms," _Sandman_ , "and Sandman."

Eames' eyes lit up at that. "You read the Sandman series?"

Arthur ducked his head, hoping his ears wouldn't give him away. Yes, he'd looked up Eames' checkout log, but he wasn't _using_ that information. He just… happened to like some of the same books. "Yeah, I did. More than once. My friends are probably sick of hearing me talk about it, actually."

"Oh, you are a wonder," Eames mused. "You and I are going to get along swimmingly." He grinned, jumping immediately into talking about Destiny and Death, walking along and handing Arthur books when he remembered, talking with his hands when he didn't.

Arthur didn't mind. Eames was as beautiful to listen to as he was to watch, and if Eames had been dying to talk to someone about his dissertation and lucid dreaming, he didn't act like it. Arthur took his time, sliding books comfortably onto their shelves and promising himself he'd start another re-read of the series tonight. Eames somehow made it all seem new again.

"So, is that a yes?" Eames asked.

Arthur blinked. "Sorry, what?"

Eames' smile grew. "Your number. I was asking if I could call you sometime. Maybe get a drink and chat about books."

There was a cyclical hum in Arthur's ears which he realized was the beating of his own heart, and he unglued his tongue from the roof of his mouth. "Uh, sure, I could, if you, yeah, I mean yes."

Eames' smile was slow and confident, and he leaned across the now-empty cart into Arthur's space. "Lovely," he breathed, and then he pressed his lips to Arthur's cheek. "Now if only there were a way to make sure I wasn't dreaming."

Arthur could feel the blush creeping up from his chest, his entire body getting entirely too hot, and he wanted to simultaneously do backflips and also crawl in a hole in the ground. Luckily, Eames didn't say anything, just backed away, a smirk on his beautiful lips. He swung around the end of the bookcase and headed back to whichever corner he'd claimed, leaving Arthur flushed and flustered in the middle of the 700 stacks.

He pressed his fingertips to the kiss he could still feel, and then shook himself. Christ, he'd been gone for at least a half-hour. He probably had a whole inbox full of more research requests. He shoved the cart onto the elevator and tried to make sure his face was a normal color by the time he pushed it back into the returns spot.

"Hey, about time," Yusuf murmured under his breath. "Two weeks, thanks!"

Arthur just smiled at the students in line.

When the crowd finally died down, Yusuf leaned his head into Arthur's office and turned on him like the traitorous and wasteful youth that he was.

"So, what took you so long on the returns?"

Arthur didn't look up. "What? Nothing. It didn't. I wasn't. Doing anything."

He could feel Yusuf's eyes on him and he finally looked away from his monitor.

"Wow," Yusuf said, eyebrows raised.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

"Holy shit, 'shut up'?! What were you doing down there?"

"I told you, I wasn't—"

"Hello, darling."

Arthur jerked to his feet, chair slamming backward in his haste.

"Hey, Eames," he fumbled, staring at the second person leaning into his office door. "What can I help you with?"

"Well, there was no one at the desk, hey Yusuf, and I was hoping you'd check me out." Then he grinned and waggled his eyebrows.

Yusuf, who was already in the process of leaving, opened his mouth at Arthur in a silent scream behind Eames' back.

Arthur came around the desk. "Well, actually Yusuf there could help you. Do you two know each other?" He glanced at the books Eames was carrying, one with the word "Dreams" in the title and the one on top a popular paperback about a bank heist.

Eames didn't stop leaning or smiling. "We do; he's in one of my classes. Plus, we've discussed lucid dreaming at length. He could probably tell you as much about oneironautics as I could."

"Oh," Arthur said weakly as he tucked his hands into his pockets.

"You sure you don't want to check me out?" Eames asked, his voice warm and a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Um," Arthur swallowed. "I mean, I could. If you need me to."

Eames grinned like he'd said something funny and pulled his phone from his back pocket before leaning his bicep against the door frame and handing it to Arthur. "That's alright, love. I'll just take your number instead."

Arthur's hands seemed surprisingly confident as he took it, noting a goofy looking dog as the wallpaper before tapping in his number.

Eames took it back and tsked. "Arthur, Arthur, Arthur," he said sadly.

Arthur frowned. "What?"

"You can put the contact under your name all you want, but I'm changing it to 'Hot Librarian' just as soon as you turn your back."

Arthur looked at him flatly and Eames just grinned, his eyes laughing. He stepped fully into Arthur's office and kissed his cheek again, and this time Arthur could hear Yusuf make some kind of strangled noise.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Eames said, his voice thick and smooth, and Arthur just nodded.

The vestibule door had barely closed behind him when Yusuf finally couldn't hold it in any longer.

"ARTHUR!" he squawked, coming into his office to hit him unnecessarily on the shoulder. "What the hell, man? You have a boyfriend? And it's _Eames_?!"

"I don't have a boyfriend," Arthur argued, shielding himself from the onslaught of blows.

"The hell you say," Yusuf beamed at him. "I just saw a professor kiss you in your office. Unless that's the newest addition to our guest services requirements, I'm telling you, he's more than just a guest."

"Of course he's—just, shut up," Arthur said.

"Holy shit, ' _shut up_ '!" Yusuf crowed, slapping him with renewed vigor. "You are in loooooove!"

"I am not!"

"Oh my god, is _that_ what you were doing in the basement?!" Yusuf's incredulous look turned from Arthur to the now-empty front door. "He's fit, good choice!"

"I WAS NOT DOING HIM IN THE BASEMENT!" Arthur shouted, red to the tips of his ears.

A freshman girl cleared her throat and dropped her books pointedly on the counter.

"Hello," Arthur said with a tight smile. "Be right with you." Then he shoved Yusuf out of his office.

Yusuf reined in everything but a giant shit-eating grin and went to help her.

"Thanks. They're due back in two weeks. Come again."

And then he was right back in Arthur's office, tugging Arthur's sleeve as he tried to type. "God, Arthur, how long has this been going on? Is this even allowed? Tell me everything he's said to you."

Arthur's sigh was legendary.

* * *

The next day was an Ariadne day, so he had to go through the whole story again.

"I fucking told you!" she cheered, hitting him in the shoulder. Why were kids these days so fond of hitting him?

"You didn't tell me shit, and also, ow."

"But I was right! He's hot, he's into you, and he's smart!"

Arthur shuffled his feet. "I mean, yeah, he's studying for his doctorate."

"See?" Ari said, jumping up to help a customer without being pointedly glared at. "Not just a gym rat."

Arthur thought he might be allowed to appreciate both. In the meantime, he had three days to stress about what to wear and where they were going and if Eames was going to kiss him again and if he'd see him today.

Unfortunately, it was painfully slow, which gave Ariadne plenty of time to loiter in his office while he tried to work, and put a damper on trying to watch covertly for Eames out of the corner of his eye. But when he finally came in, holding the vestibule door open for the woman entering behind him and letting in a blast of cold air, he only waved in Arthur's direction and headed straight for the stairs.

Right. Good. No, this was better. He had a job to do, and Eames was here to work, and three days was absolutely a reasonable amount of time before wanting to kiss someone again. Especially if it was a _cheek_ kiss, and oh Christ, Arthur was all wound up about someone kissing his _cheek_ , what the _fuck_.

With a sigh, he looked at Ari, who had noticed Eames come in just like he had, and thunked his head into his hands.

"Ugh, Ari, go away, I need to try and focus."

She grinned at him. "You're too excited about your date! That's why you can't focus, Arthur!" She laughed.

Arthur scowled at his monitor because it was embarrassing as fuck that she was actually right.

"Do you want to take the returns downstairs?" Ari asked, waggling a book in front of him enticingly.

He knew she was teasing him, but should he? What if Eames didn't want to see him before this weekend? What if he was trying to work and Arthur was bothering him? He frowned.

"I don't really think—"

"Oh my god," Ari groaned, "I was just teasing you, holy crap. But not about taking the returns; I actually do want you to do those, please." She blinked at him and smiled innocently.

Arthur rolled his eyes and grabbed the cart.

As he waited for the old elevator to rattle and groan it's way to a stop, he smoothed his hands over his favorite waistcoat. It would be fine. He'd just go do this favor for Ari, and if he happened to see Eames, he'd just wave. Nothing fancy. No public displays of attraction needed.

When the elevator doors shuddered open on the basement floor, no one was in sight. Okay. Good. Fine. He maneuvered the cart to the first row of shelves and walked every aisle, just like he did every time he returned books. He took the opportunity to straighten books, reshelve those which had been pulled out, look for gum and sticky notes, pick up trash. It was a thankless—

"There you are," Eames' silky smooth voice interrupted his thoughts, and Arthur jumped.

"Jesus tits," he blurted, managing not to drop the book in his hands. "You scared the shit out of me."

Eames didn't look even a little bit sorry. "Aww, did you forget I was down here?" he teased, wide eyes blinking and bottom lip pushed out.

Arthur wanted to bite it. "I…"

Eames raised an eyebrow at him and Arthur had to look away. He adjusted the book in his hands.

"I didn't forget. I just didn't want to bother you if you were—"

"Fuck no," Eames scoffed. "I am dying for someone to distract me. _Please_ distract me."

Arthur met his eyes, wondering what he tasted like, wondering what he smelled like today, wondering if he'd get to find out.

With a raised eyebrow and a look of understanding, Eames stepped closer.

"Arthur," he said, and Arthur would never get over how his name sounded in Eames' mouth. It was just his _name,_ and he was a fucking mess. Arthur licked his lips.

Eames had crooked teeth, adorable, endearing crooked teeth, and a smile which said he knew exactly what his lips did to people. Fucking jocks, Arthur thought, drifting into Eames' space.

"This," Eames said, close enough that Arthur had to focus on his mouth or risk going cross-eyed, "is an excellent distraction."

His wide hands dropped to Arthur's forearms, thumbs stroking over the skin exposed there. Arthur gripped the book even tighter. Eames' lips parted like he was going to say something, the pink of his tongue visible.

Arthur swallowed, heart beating too fast, and he could feel the flutter of Eames' breath against his lips. Eames leaned forward, close enough for Arthur's eyes to drop closed in anticipation, but instead, he dragged his nose slowly alongside Arthur's, their lips barely brushing.

"God, I love this part," Eames breathed, and Arthur's own breath gusted out. "The newness, the excitement. I see you shiver with antici…"

He paused, his lips smiling, and Arthur knew what he was doing but he couldn't take any more. He surged forward into Eames, catching that mouth with his own and kissing him, warm and sweet.

Eames made a soft hum back in his throat and Arthur squeezed his eyes shut. His heart had stopped, but when Eames tilted his head, deepening the kiss, it started back up again triple time. Eames raised a hand to his jaw, but all Arthur could do was hang on to the book in his hand, clinging to something knowable and reliable.

Arthur was lightheaded by the time Eames pulled back, blinking foggily and god, he was right. This part was incredible. New people, the possibilities, the way his heart was in his throat—nothing could top this.

Then Eames took the book out of his hands and set it on the cart.

He framed Arthur's face with his hands, looked him square in the eyes and said, "...pation."

Arthur couldn't help the chuckle that rolled out of him. With a sigh, he rested his hands atop Eames' and took a moment to catch his breath.

"Yeah," he agreed quietly.

When he looked at Eames again, there was a smile in his eyes. A smile that said there might be something even better to look forward to.

"What time are you done here?" Eames asked. "Would you like to get a drink?" Before Arthur could answer he added, "Or dinner? Or a movie?" He grinned at the way Arthur was raising his eyebrows, waiting for him to finish. "Or breakfast?"

Arthur chuckled. "Yeah, a drink sounds great. 7:00?"

"I can't wait."


End file.
